


Breadcrumb Trail

by FrenchKey



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental breaking in, Bread, Breaking and Entering, Bruce is too tired for this shit, Clint is a Disaster, M/M, meet weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey
Summary: Bruce wakes up to find a cryptic message left on his floor in bread. He is far too tired for this nonsense.
Relationships: Pre-Bruce Banner/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Breadcrumb Trail

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially based off a true story, believe it or not. (The people it actually happened to knew each other though). It's a silly wee thing I wrote to fulfill a word count goal and I thought the world might find it amusing. Enjoy!

Bruce binked himself slowly awake. For a moment, he wondered what had awoken him and then he heard it. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep but ultimately decided that it was probably a bad idea. He got out of bed and shoved his feet into his slippers, grabbed his baseball bat from the wardrobe and went to go and see why his screen door was banging in the wind. 

Stumbling down the stairs, he desperately hoped nothing important or expensive had been stolen. He really, really couldn’t afford it unless he got a really impressive research grant in the next few weeks. Sure enough, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door had been forced open and left that way. He steeled himself and went into the living room.

The first thing he noticed was that the TV was exactly where he’d left it when he went to bed. The second thing he noticed was the bread. It was strewn across the rug in some sort of pattern. He had to squint but, eventually, he realised that it was forming words.

‘FUKC YOU GUYYS. IMIN HOT TBU.’

A moment of mental translation turned it into ‘Fuck you guys. I’m in the hot tub’. Bruce scratched his head. What the hell? Who broke into someone’s house to leave cryptic notes made of bread? He didn’t have a hot tub either. Although, come to think of it, his neighbour did. 

The back door was also standing wide open, letting freezing cold air into the house. There was a wide path of destruction straight through the middle of the vegetable patch, leading to a felled section of fence. Bruce cautiously poked his head through the gap and immediately saw the man in the hot tub. He was wearing a slightly disheveled suit, curled up with his head pillowed on his arm and he was unfairly hot. Bruce cursed his entire life and went back to bed, shutting the doors firmly on the way.

* * *

The doorbell woke him up again at six am. Bruce groaned and dragged himself downstairs. Opening the door, he discovered a very bedraggled hot tub dweller on the doorstep. He’d lost his jacket at some point in the night and his untucked shirt clung attractively to his impressive biceps and defined abs. Bruce tried not to drool too much. The man shuffled his feet.

‘Ummm…’ he said.

Bruce just waited. The man ran his hand through his hair. He looked rather nervous. The vicious part of Bruce was glad but the rest of him just found it kind of adorable.

‘I think I might have kind of maybe broken into your house last night?’ the guy muttered.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I got the numbers confused and thought it was Natasha’s. I know it’s not much of an excuse but I’m sorry?’ he offered.

‘I’ll consider forgiving you if you come back, once you’re clean and dry, and help me fix the garden,’ Bruce said before he could think it through.

The man straightened up immediately.

‘I’ll be half an hour,’ he said and bounded away down the drive. 

Bruce decided he should probably go and get dressed.

* * *

In the end it didn’t take too long to tidy up. Given proper instructions, Clint, as Bruce discovered his not-burglar was called, was pretty handy with chores. They got the inside of the house straightened out in no time and then started on the garden. Contrary to Bruce’s fears, the vegetable patch hadn’t taken too much damage. A few plants needed pulled entirely but most had just been a little battered and were already beginning to perk back up on their own. The big problem was the fence.

‘It’s rotten almost all the way through,’ Clint observed. ‘I could reattach the panel but, honestly, the next high wind is likely to take the whole thing down. It likely didn’t have long left.’

Bruce groaned.

‘Can you just put back what’s there and I’ll hope?’ he asked.

‘I mean, I can, but it’s kinda my fault it’s broken so I’d be willing to replace it for you.’

‘What?’ Bruce said.

‘I’m a carpenter by trade. I broke it so I’m happy to replace it,’ Clint said, grinning.

‘I can’t ask you to do that. You knocked one panel down. I don’t know how much it would cost to do a whole fence but I can’t afford to pay you for it,’ Bruce said, shuffling his feet.

‘I’m not asking you to pay,’ Clint said. ‘I wouldn’t charge you to fix a problem I created.’

‘But you didn’t create it, you just drew attention to it,’ Bruce argued.

‘Well, I suppose, if you insist, I could fix the fence and you could pay me by taking me out for a cup of coffee?’ Clint suggested.

‘I suppose I could,’ Bruce said, a grin starting to grow on his face.


End file.
